When Aemon approached Gael about joining him on the journey to the Citadel, she agreed without hesitation. There was no dramatic pause, no need for persuasion. Just a quiet nod and a shared understanding between two people whose lives had already been deeply altered by fate. She promised she'd be ready to leave in a moon's time—just enough for Aemon to be allowed near Zalrazar again.
The days passed with a strange stillness. The Red Keep remained its usual bustling self, but for Aemon, time slowed. He spent the weeks preparing in quiet focus—packing scrolls, ink, clothing suited for Oldtown's climate, and a few odd trinkets of his own making. He wasn't just going to study. There was more to this journey, something deeper he didn't voice aloud.
Rhaenyra, still so young, clung to him more with each passing day. At first she sulked and scolded him, demanding to know why he had to leave. Later, she merely sat near him in silence, watching his every movement as if trying to memorize them. After countless reassurances and promises of return, she relented—but only just.
Aemon also made a quiet request of his grandsire, Baelon. "Three boys," he had said, "no older than ten, but loyal. Truly loyal." Baelon had given him a long look—half curious, half wary—but asked no questions. In the end, he agreed.
The day of departure arrived with a soft drizzle and overcast skies. The kind of weather that made goodbyes feel heavier than they already were. Most of their belongings had been sent ahead with the household retinue days before. Only Aemon, Gael, and the dragons remained.
The courtyard felt too quiet as the family gathered. Aemma's eyes were red-rimmed, though she tried to keep her composure. Alyssane held Rhaenyra close, and even Baelon and Viserys wore uneasy expressions.
"Take care of Aemon, Gael," Aemma said, brushing hair from her son's face. "Even if he acts older than his years, he's still a boy. Make sure he eats. Washes. Sleeps. Don't let him skip meals to read scrolls."
Aemon's ears flushed. "Mother…"
"I'm serious," she said, voice soft but firm.
Gael gave a nod. "I'll make sure of it, Your Grace."
Alyssane stepped forward next. "Listen to your Granduncle Vaegon. He may be stern, but he's wise. And Lord Hightower will see to your care. You'll be safe."
Finally, Aemon turned to Rhaenyra. She hadn't spoken once that morning. Her lip trembled as he knelt before her.
"I'll come back, I swear," he said gently. "We'll play again. Wait for your Hāedar zōbrȳr."
Her arms flew around his neck. She didn't say anything, just hugged him tightly, tears soaking his collar.
After a long moment, Aemon stood, gave a final glance to his family, then climbed onto Zalrazar's back. Gael mounted Dreamfrey beside him. Neither of them looked back as the dragons took to the skies.
-Aemon's POV-
This was my and Zalrazar's first true long-distance flight. We followed Dreamfrey's lead as King's Landing shrank behind us, slowly swallowed by the horizon. Clouds floated below our feet now, a rolling sea of white. The air was cold and sharp, rushing past my ears in a constant whisper, but I could feel the warmth of the sun on my back like a steady hand. My heart was pounding. I closed my eyes and let the moment wash over me.
The steady rhythm of Zalrazar's wings echoed in my bones. The wind stung against my cheeks, and I learned quickly not to face it head-on—it made it hard to breathe. Even up here, above the world, you fly with your head bowed. Not in fear, but in reverence. Nature doesn't yield to titles.
"ARE YOU SCARED, AEMON?" Gael's voice barely reached me through the wind. I opened my eyes and turned to wave at her, too overwhelmed to respond with words. Below us stretched an endless sea of green—forests, fields, winding rivers, and scattered villages no larger than specks.
This is what it means to be Targaryen. To see the world not from its soil, but from the sky. No wonder so many of us go mad. Up here, I felt invincible.
By evening, we neared Oldtown. The flight had taken nine hours, and both Zalrazar and I were exhausted. We stopped briefly in Highgarden to rest. Lord Martyn Tyrell was gracious and insistent we stay longer, but I declined. We had a destination.
From the sky, Oldtown was beautiful—different from the capital in every way. Where King's Landing was chaos and stone, Oldtown was order and spires. The honey-colored towers rose up like fingers to the sky, and the Citadel stood like a giant among them, its domes and links glinting in the dying light. The Hightower, tall and proud at the mouth of the Honeywine, watched over the city like a sentinel.
We landed near Oldtown's gates, where a crowd had already gathered despite the late hour. Dragons had not visited Oldtown in decades—perhaps longer—and the arrival of two at once was cause enough for most of the city to come watch. I dismounted with care. My muscles ached, but I kept my posture straight. I was a prince, after all.
Knights of House Hightower awaited us, lined in silver and green. Their captain stepped forward and offered us bread and salt—Oldtown's sacred welcome.
"Prince Aemon, Princess Gael," said the Lord Leyton Hightower , bowing low. "You honor Oldtown with your presence. House Hightower bids you welcome and safety within his walls."
We were escorted to the Hightower, where the great hall was lit with lanterns and filled with guests—lesser lords, maesters, septons, and the nobility of House Hightower. The greeting was formal, tedious. My body longed for a bed, but I kept smiling. A prince does not show weariness.
Then came Ser Otto Hightower. He was all smooth courtesy and careful words, dressed plainly but with poise.
"I am Ser Otto Hightower, brother to Leyton Hightower," he said with a practiced smile. "It brings us great joy to host a prince of the realm, and one so eager to learn. Perhaps my son and daughter might learn something from your example."
A nervous girl and a quiet boy stepped forward to greet me.
"You overestimate me," I replied lightly. "I came here to learn, not to teach. And not entirely by choice. But I'll never complain about compliments—especially when they're true."
The lords laughed, easing the room.
Last came Grand Uncle Vaegon. He looked older than I remembered—older than he should have. His face bore a permanent scowl, and it was clear he was less than thrilled by this arrangement. Still, I greeted him with respect.
The three boys my grandfather had promised also stood nearby, but I barely managed a nod. My limbs felt like lead, and my head was spinning from the long flight and endless greetings.
At last, I was shown to my quarters. A proper chamber, warm and furnished, with a feather bed that looked like salvation.
I sank into it without removing my boots.
I'm here now. This will be my life for a while. I'll make the most of it. But all of that—
Tomorrow.
Tonight, I sleep.